


Other Plans

by giantessmess



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Mirandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantessmess/pseuds/giantessmess
Summary: Andy is in a gay bar, a few drinks in, when she is surprised to spot Miranda Priestly.





	1. Chapter 1

It was the last place she expected to see Miranda Priestly. The lights were garish, the music pulsing, and there she was: sitting at the bar nursing a drink, her hair flawless white below the various multi-colored paper lanterns and other assorted things hanging from the ceiling. Miranda Priestly. In a gay bar in The Village. 

Miranda raised her eyebrows when she spotted Andy, but didn’t seem to be particularly bothered by being seen. Andy wondered how many drinks she’d already had. Andy had managed a few already herself, enough to walk right up to the woman who had previously filled her with ecstatic terror and say hi.

“Well isn’t this a nice surprise,” Miranda smirked. “What are you drinking?”

‘Um…”

Miranda rolled her eyes and ordered Andy some complicated cocktail she’d never heard of.

“I must say,” Miranda said, eyeing her up and down. “I had my suspicions.”

“Miranda…” Andy managed. “What are you doing here?”

Miranda looked annoyed at the obvious question.

“Why, I’m taking notes on the décor for my personal decorator,” she indicated around herself with disinterest “I think party store that threw up might be the latest in interior design. What do you think?”

Andy laughed.

“Ok, I deserved that.”

Miranda smirked and handed her the drink that just appeared behind her. Andy came and sat next to her. Despite her bravado, her heart was beating much too fast. Her hands shook a little, but she drank. And drank. It tasted like sunshine, and Miranda laughed when she noticed how quickly Andy had finished it. She ordered another. They had gotten closer, somehow, so they could hear each other talking over the noise in the bar. Andy was telling her a little about this story she just filed, Miranda complaining about an entire shoot she’d have to throw out. Another drink, and then another. And then they were right there, drunk and so close and Andy couldn’t breathe. Her lips found Miranda’s and Miranda let out a gasp, and kissed her back. Hands tangled in Andy’s hair. 

 

Andy didn’t remember getting home. Vaguely remembered a cab, or was it Miranda’s car? Kissing down Miranda’s body as the car moved. Miranda’s knee pressed between her legs, and oh god. She was coming. She remembers laughing afterward, and kissing Miranda more. She remembers the way Miranda looked at her. Then nothing. Her bed, and later the ceramic bowl of her toilet as she threw up a night’s worth of drink and craziness.

She woke up to her phone ringing on and off, but it was a Saturday and she felt like hell. When she managed to pry open her eyes she found several missed calls. From her editor, from her mother, from Doug. Lily? Why was Lily even calling her? She scrolled through her texts, not quite up for the voice messages. Doug’s was full of incredulity, asking her if she was serious. Her mother’s simply said to call her. Her editor…  
It was too early on a Saturday for this. But she dialed the least annoying option. Doug picked up on the first ring.

“Jesus Christ, Andy. When were you going to tell me? This is huge!”

“What?’ her voice was rough, and she cleared her throat. “Ok, I’m too hungover for this, Doug.”

“You haven’t seen the papers?”

“I just woke up,” she stretched and tried to will herself to get up for coffee, but her head was pounding too hard.

“You and Miranda Priestly,” he said.

She sat up suddenly then, and felt instantly nauseous.

“What?”

“It’s all over the gossip rags. Page Six has a dedicated online….”

She marched to her kitchen table and opened her laptop, going to the Page Six part of the New York Post’s website. And fuck. Fucking shit _fuck_.

“Oh God, _Oh God_. Where were the cameras? I didn’t see…”

Doug laughed then.

“Wow.”

“It’s not funny!”

She did a Google search. Other papers and gossip magazines had picked up the story too. There she was, making out with Miranda in a bar, in dizzyingly clear images. Several of them. She couldn’t breathe. She had done this. This happened. And now it was—

“I mean, this is good right?” Doug offered.

“No, it is not good. How on earth is this good?”

“She likes you back?”

“This isn’t high school, this is…. _Oh God_ , my parents. The Mirror….” She clicked to her own paper’s page and there she was, front and center with her hand on Miranda’s ass. Guess integrity and loyalty was for the birds.

“Andy,” Doug said, interrupting her panic. “Andy.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. But you’ve had a thing for her ever since…. I mean it’s been over a year and you _still_ talk about her.”

“Ugh. I am too hungover for this,” she groaned, dragging her laptop back to her bedroom and flopping onto her bed. “I am much much too hungover for this.”

“Ok, I get that. Call me later?” Doug said. “And try not to freak out too much.”

“Yeah, right.”

She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, wishing she could sink into the bed and be swallowed whole. Instead she slowly got herself together. Forced herself to shower, to eat…ok maybe not yet. Coffee. And then she eyed her cell with resentment. She would deal with everyone else later, for now…she had to see how Miranda was doing. This had to be hell on the twins. It had only been a year since her divorce was splashed everywhere. And now this. She felt instantly guilty. She dialed Runway’s familiar number first. Emily picked up.

“Hey Em,” she said. “Why are you working Saturdays now?”

“Oh, it’s you,” was the not-so-enthusiastic greeting she got back. “As if you don’t know.”

“Emily, wow. Ok, look…”

“Miranda’s in a meeting. Though I must say you look very slim in those photos.”

“Um…thanks?’ she blinked a couple of times. “Is she ok? I have to speak to—“

Emily laughed.

“Of course she’s ok. I mean, you’re certainly not the ideal person for this little operation, but you can’t _tell_ Miranda anything. As I’m sure you know.”

“What…I don’t…”

“Do keep up, Andy. Haven’t you been paying any attention to Page Six?”

“I don’t understand…”

“It’s been in the works for months, I suppose. But she’s been very overt this past few weeks. It really is a good moment to come out, there’s even time for her to make the next GLAAD Awards. I think she’s intending to present.”

“She what?” she blinked. 

“Bloody hell, you really didn’t know? She’s been deliberately courting the press. I thought you were meant to be a reporter of some kind.”

“I’m—“

“Really, Andy. I wonder what it’s like having your head shoved so deep in the sand.”

“Hey, not all of us live and die on what Page Six writes.”

“Well you do now,” Emily said.

“Great.”

“Nobody forced you to make out with her.”

“I was drunk, ok? I—”

“Not interested.”

“How was I to know she was having some kind of coming out media bonanza?”

“And that would have changed whether you stuck your tongue down her throat?” Emily sounded bored. “Look I don’t care. Not interested. Glad she found a body to make headlines with so this can all be yesterday’s news soon.”

“What? I’m not a _body_!”

But to her extreme irritation, Emily had hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who has lurked in the Mirandy fandom since the very beginning, I figured I owed the pairing a story now that I'm writing fic again.


	2. Chapter 2

Andy may have tried calling back a few too many times than was sane, but Emily wouldn’t put her through. Miranda wasn’t answering her personal cell. She couldn’t believe she had been sucked back into this woman’s life. Especially now that the media had tracked her apartment down. Andy got a frenzied call from the building manager, who seemed pretty annoyed at the level of crazy out in the street. Great. Just great. Work was another fun little excursion into this new level of hell Miranda had cracked open into her world. Yes, her editor was understanding. To a point.

“You need to give us an exclusive.”

“I need to what? Hell no, you can’t seriously—“

“Think about it, Sachs. It’s inevitable at this point. We’re not firing you, of course. But you have to meet us halfway at least.”

Andy agreed to think about it, and then groaned, pressing her head against her bedroom wall and repeatedly smacking her forehead against it. 

That was it. She had to yell at someone and Miranda was the logical, if terrifying, conclusion. But come on, she had to be expecting Andy to show up at some point. She had to be expecting some fall-out, some scene to be avoided. It had to be why Miranda was so carefully out of reach.

So Andy dragged her tired self to Miranda’s townhouse. She climbed out of the taxi, marched up to the door and tried not to let the terror show on her face. The media were camped out front, of course. Cameras flashing in Andy’s face, questions lobbed at her that she only half-heard, or answered with a _what?_ Miranda was surprisingly quick at opening the door and pulling her in. She looked Andy over quickly, as if expecting to see some injury. Seemingly satisfied, she walked off in the direction of the kitchen. Andy opened her mouth, closed it, and rushed after her.

“Ok, no hello then. No _Hi, how’s it going? By the way I’m in the middle of some insane media stunt_?”

Miranda turned, gave Andy a look that seemed both parts annoyed and amused, and continued to fiddle with the coffee maker. 

“I’d offer you a coffee,” was the first thing she said. “But it seems to me you’re in need of something stronger.”

Andy let out a breath through her nose. Crossed her arms and tried to look intimidating, but this only seemed to amuse Miranda more. She flicked the switch and the machine began to quietly hum.

“That was an offer, by the way,” Miranda said. She opened a cabinet, showing off an array of bottles, no doubt only a small selection of what existed in this house. She probably had a wine cellar. Or a dungeon. 

“I’m fine,” Andy said.

“Yes, Andréa. You certainly sound it,” Miranda hummed. “That is of course why you came tearing over here like some deranged bulldog. Because you’re fine.”

Andy shot her a glare.

“Look, Miranda. I don’t deserve this.”

“This? And what _this_ are we talking about?”

Andy closed her eyes, clenched her fists and begged whatever deity that had a free moment to stop her from simply losing it. 

“Ok,” she said, and she sounded calm. She could be calm. She looked Miranda in the eye. “Why now?”

Miranda didn’t seem to be expecting this; she narrowed her eyes a little.

“Excuse me?”

“Look…so…” Andy tried to find the right words, but decided the direct approach was best. “You’re gay.”

Miranda barely raised an eyebrow to that, but her mouth quirked.

“No, I get it,” Andy stuttered. ”Stupid question. I just…why?”

“Why,” Miranda spoke with the same level of eerie quietness that she did when she was about to destroy something fragile. “Why do I wish to not continue on living a lie? Well, my goodness let me think…”

“Ok, you’re not going to tell me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Um, no,” Andy said. “It actually kinda is.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes.

“You think because I got you off in the back of my car that I owe you some personal piece of me? Some explanation?”

Andy’s face went red.

“You used me,” she said. “As part of your little gay media circus.”

Miranda’s smile wasn’t kind. 

“Well, you were there. I had to make sure I got them something before they hit their deadline.”

“I can’t believe I even bothered coming here.”

“Yes and why did you, Andréa?”

“I guess I had the ridiculous notion that we needed to talk about this.”

“And why would that be?”

“I was…worried. You were pretty drunk, Miranda. We both were and I—“ she narrowed her eyes. Miranda looked startled at the abrupt way she had stopped. “You were drunk.”

“My, what stellar powers of deduction. I can’t fathom how the Mirror has managed to hang onto you.”

“I didn’t see any cameras.”

“I can assure you they were there.”

“I know. But you didn’t seem to be in any hurry. And we didn’t make the morning deadline. We only made the Internet edition. You…”

Miranda glared at her.

“What?”

“It wasn’t about your little coming-out show, was it?”

“Of course it was.”

“You like me.”

“How utterly juvenile.”

“But you do.”

Miranda bunched her hands into fists and let out an annoyed breath.

“For pity’s sake. Of course I want you! I spent the entire evening with my hands all over you.”

Andy felt her throat dry up, her face flush.

“Oh.”

Miranda was looking anywhere but at Andy, almost like she was embarrassed by her admission. This wasn’t what Andy had expected. This wasn’t the woman who had brazenly gone out and staged public dates with known out lesbians for the past month, and made sure the papers knew it. Andy had looked up some of the previous coverage. It was bold, it was very Miranda. The woman in front of her though, she was fidgeting. She was closer to the one Andy had seen in that hotel room, over a year ago. The powerful force of nature, stripped down to her skin. Eyes wide with fear and something else.

“I want this to be ok, Miranda,” Andy said. Miranda looked up, and it was obvious she was trying to school her features. But she still looked nervous. 

“I don’t…” Miranda uncharacteristically struggled for the words, looking flustered. “I mean…”

“God, do you have any idea, how much I…” Andy let out a breath, swallowing. “How _long_ I….”

Miranda managed to get herself together a little then, but her face was still flushed.

“I may have some idea,” she huffed, letting out a breath. “ _God_. Now I need a drink.”

“Do I scare you that much?” Andy said, smiling a little.

Miranda glared at her, but it was without any real malice. Andy felt joy bubble up inside herself. Coffee forgotten, and rapidly growing cold, Miranda pushed and prodded through the cabinet for a bottle of scotch and dolloped a generous amount into a glass. Andy waved away the offer.

“I still feel pretty...gross. What was in those drinks last night?”

“Oh, pretty much everything,” Miranda smirked, taking a sip. 

“Miranda, if we hadn’t been drunk….”

“Alcohol simply makes you braver, Andréa. It isn’t a transformative substance.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I’m not as…” Miranda let out a breath. “There are different kinds of bravery. I can’t claim I am a great example in the personal category. I….should be warning you away. You should know what it is you’re signing up for. That is, if you’re signing up for anything.”

“Miranda,” Andy smiled. “You forget how well I know you.”

“Do you, now? You didn’t know I was gay.”

“Did you know I was bisexual?”

“I had an inkling.”

“Miranda, look. At this point, where I stand….I mean it’s not like I’ve only seen the best of you. After all you put me through? And still, I can’t _stop_ …” Andy sighed. “I can’t get you out of my head. I’m not sure I want to.”

Miranda seemed stunned, something akin to fear crossing her face. Andy wished she could wipe that feeling away, replace it with something that would make it easier. She took hold of Miranda’s hand and Miranda let Andy place the drink on the table. Miranda blinked then, swallowed. Tried to speak. God, she was so beautiful. Andy realized that Miranda’s hand had begun to shake a little. Miranda seemed to notice too. She rolled her eyes.

“ _God_ ,” her voice was raspy.

“Miranda,” Andy said softly. Miranda let out another breath and looked at Andy like she couldn’t believe she existed. “I want to kiss you.”

Miranda let out a whimper, and Andy leaned forward and gently brushed their lips together. It was slower, softer than it had been in the bar. Miranda seemed fragile here, like she was trying to contain something a little too large from breaking free.

“I’m not usually…” Miranda stuttered. She moaned when Andy began to kiss along her neck. The tension seemed to leave her, and she leaned desperately into Andy’s touch. “Oh God, oh please.”

Andy pulled away, and Miranda made a noise of complaint, which was when Andy pushed her against the kitchen bench with a thud. She began to lower herself, pushing up Miranda’s skirt. Running her hands up Miranda’s legs, stopping at her inner-thigh, eliciting a moan that sounded like a breathy _fuck_.

“Miranda,” she breathed and Miranda’s eyes were squeezed shut, her head tilting back. Andy was trying not to shake, her knees wanting to give in. She was actually here, actually doing this. She slowly pulled down Miranda’s underwear and oh God. She licked her lips. This was happening. She was going to die, right here and she didn’t even care. 

When Miranda came a short while later she let out a wail, a cry. Andy was up in time to stop her legs giving out. Miranda didn’t protest, simply letting Andy hold her.

“I think a bed will be better, next time,’ Andy said, still a little out of breath. “Just an idea.”

Miranda hummed in agreement, a smile quirking her lip. She drew Andy in for a kiss. Everything about Miranda seemed too soft, too sweet. Too different from that night at the bar. But then Miranda’s senses seemed to return to her. She gave Andy a knowing look and pulled away. And without a word, she walked out of the kitchen. Andy stared open mouthed at the doorway, but Miranda returned a second later. Her eyes were a little narrowed, lips pursed. 

“My bedroom is on the third floor, Andréa.”

“I…” Andy said. "Um…ok."

Miranda smirked, but her eyes were warm. 

“Well? Do you need a written invitation?”

This time Miranda really did walk out. Andy sighed, rolling her eyes at the empty kitchen. Then she followed Miranda up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. I may or may not write more Mirandy. We shall see.


End file.
